Memories of a Mousetrap
by Gale Force
Summary: The sequel to First Meeting: She Said, in which Emma Peel first meets John Steed. In this story, Steed recruits Emma to work with him in the secret service.


-1**Memories of a Mousetrap**

**I. ON THE WAY TO BAILEY HALL, NORTH OF ENGLAND**

Emma Peel sat in the corner of a first-class carriage, reading through a sheaf of papers. At her side was her little transistor radio, which she had tuned to a classical music station. Occasionally, however, a newsreader broke in to give the latest weather announcement. Occasionally Emma glanced out of the window up at the sky, where snow clouds loomed.

Strange weather, Emma had thought to herself as she set out from London towards the north of England, where she was to attend a business conference. Just a couple of months ago she'd been sailing a barge through the canals of France in the heat of late summer. Now winter had come early to England, and they were actually predicting snow. "They" being the weathermen. Emma didn't give a lot of credence to their reports, but the sky was certainly foreboding, and the temperature was quite chilly. And anything could happen in the north.

By all rights, she shouldn't be taking this trip at all. Her second in command, Caldicott, had been scheduled to attend the conference, but her parents had been involved in a gondola accident in Venice and she'd had to fly out there to sort things out. So Emma had decided to take the trip herself.

The train clattered away efficiently on the tracks, and Emma soon lost herself in the papers. After a couple of hours the pangs of hunger brought her out of herself, and she closed a book and looked out the window. Snow covered the ground and was still coming down.

Emma grimaced. Typical.

She spent an hour in the dining car, eating an elegant dinner served by white jacketed servers. Chicken kiev and wild rice. Delicious.

The train was by no means filled up, and everyone was able to have a table to themselves. Normally Emma was not adverse to chatting with casual acquaintances on trains, but she was glad today that everyone seemed to want to stay to themselves. She had a lot on her mind.

The train rolled into Charters Station on-time, much to Emma's surprise considering the weather. It was like a solid wall of snow out there now. She descended onto the platform, and tipped the porter who carried down her two suitcases. Before she had time to pick them up, a tall, lithe but elderly woman in a chauffer's uniform approached her.

"Miss Caldicott? I'm from Bailey Hall. The Conference?"

"Yes, indeed. I'm glad to see you."

"Let me get your bags."

Emma allowed the woman to carry both her bags - she'd have done the same if the chauffeur was a man, regardless of his age, and she wouldn't be condescending to this woman.

"It's Mrs. Peel, by the way," Emma said as she walked beside the chauffeuse towards a Rolls Royce. She was glad she had worn her boots and lined leather slacks and jacket. It was freezing and the snow was laying in heaps everywhere.

"Oh?" said the chauffeur "You are from Knight Enterprises, aren't you?"

"Yes, but Miss Caldicott couldn't come, so I decided to attend in her place. I did call Sir Harry."

"Ah, well, it's not the first time Mr. Harry hasn't told me what I should know, marm, not the first time at all. But as long as you are from Knight Enterprises, that's all that matters."

The chauffeuse opened the door and Emma climbed inside. Then she got into her own seat and started the engine.

"Have all the other conference attendees arrived?" Emma asked through the open panel between the tonneau and the cab.

"No, marm, and I'm not sure that they all will. Eight of you have arrived today. Everyone else was going to arrive tomorrow, but I don't mind telling you, I doubt if they'll be able to get through. The snow isn't supposed to let up for some time."

"Well, I suppose there are plenty of provisions in, eh?"

"Oh, yes, marm. Sir Harry laid on food for twenty for three days. We'll be able to last for a month, I don't doubt."

Emma laughed. "Let's hope it doesn't come that."

The chauffeuse drove quickly and expertly along the winding roads towards Bailey Hall. Emma did not speak again - in conditions like this it was best to let the woman concentrate on the task at hand.

**II. BAILEY HALL, NORTH OF ENGLAND**

"Mrs. Peel, so glad you could make it! Beastly weather, isn't it." said Sir Harry Venables, president of the British Aerospace and Technological Industries Association. Alfred Bailey, owner of Bailey Hall, rented it out to various large companies as a conference center. On this occasion, it was hosting the British Aerospace and Technological Industries Conference.

"Sir Harry. Pleasure to be here. I understand that only eight of us have arrived." 

"Yes…and I'm thinking that it's only going to be eight of you tomorrow. This weather…"

Emma nodded. She had a feeling that the weather was going to be a constant refrain this weekend.

"The rest of the guests are in the library. Would you like to freshen up, first? Dinner is going to be served in one hour."

"I'll join the others now, I think. Will someone be taking my bags taken upstairs?"

"Yes, Mottram will see to it. Mottram - that's the chauffeur. She's a treasure. Well, let me take your coat, and then I'll escort you into the library."

**III. THE LIBRARY**

Sir Harry opened the door, and allowed Emma Peel to precede him into the Library.

The Library was a huge room, with its walls covered floor to ceiling with books in bookshelves, with a ladder on rails running all the way round. Scattered throughout the center of the room were a dozen leather chairs and several small tables.

Emma took in the inhabitants in one quick glance. Four men were seated in chairs, glasses of liquor in their hands, cigars in their mouths. Three men were standing, as if they had been looking through the books.

Emma's eyes passed over them all, and then jerked back to one particular face. A face that she had never expected to see again. A face that…judging by his own shocked expression…had never expected to see _her _again.

His shocked expression had faded as if it had never been, and he advanced, beaming with pleasure. "Mrs. Peel, isn't it? Aldridge. Patrick Aldridge, of TechnoFish Industries."

"Mr. Aldridge," Emma said, coldly, extending her hand. He took it and pressed it with both hands, gazing into her eyes. Emma removed her hand and allowed Sir Harry to introduce her to everyone else. She made her replies automatically, for her mind was elsewhere.

The last time she had seen the man calling himself Patrick Aldridge, it had been on the road from Montbard to Dijon. He was a self-confessed thief, having stolen a million francs from two _other _thieves, and making his escape to Dijon, with her assistance. And there she had left him…free and clear.

And now here he was, in the north of England at an important technological conference, impersonating a high official in a major British firm. For what possible reason? And what was she going to do about it?

**IV. FACE-OFF**

The hour before dinner passed quickly. Emma knew two of the men in the room - Jason Grimes of Union Jack Aerospace and Douglas Treves of British Shield, and had heard of three of the others. And they had heard of her. They sat talking shop for the entire hour, while out of the corner of her eye she could see the man Aldridge/Steed hovering at the touchline, anxious to hear what she was saying.

At dinner, she was seated at Sir Harry's right hand, and Aldridge/Steed was seated at the far end of the table. But she could feel his eyes on her as she made conversation with those around her. He was by no means silent on this occasion either…although on the occasion when his voice carried he was talking about horses, or wine, or the beach at Costa Brava.

After dinner, most of the men retired to the billiard room. Emma Peel headed for the library, and Aldridge/Steed followed her.

"I have to talk to you," he said urgently as soon as he passed through the door.

"No hogging Mrs. Peel to yourself, Aldridge," said Sir Harry jovially, for he had followed them. "Mrs. Peel, you're comments about _our _stock of German rocket scientists, as opposed to those in the States and Russia, was very interesting. We were hoping to get Immelman and his minders here this week end, you know…but with all this snow…"

"Immelman? Here?" said Mrs. Peel. "I'm surprised the government would have let him out…"

"Yes, we had quite a lot of discussion with his minders…it was going to be quite a coup for us. And then this damned… excuse me, Mrs. Peel…this snow interferes. Goodness knows where he and his minders have ended up. He was supposed to have got here tonight."

"Tonight?" said Aldridge/Steed. "Well, there's still time then…The roads can't be impassable yet."

Sir Harry shrugged. "We haven't heard from them. They probably pulled off the road and holed up at the first flake of snow."

"Well, I certainly hope they do arrive," said Emma. "Immelman is a man I'd really like to talk to."

She suppressed a smile as she saw Aldridge/Steed's lips twist in an annoyed fashion.

"Well…"said Sir Harry, and then stopped, as Jason Grimes poked his head in to the room. "Emma, we've decided to have a snooker tournament and we need you. I've told everyone you're quite the professional."

Emma stood up with alacrity. "Certainly, Jason. Sir Harry..can we continue this conversation later..hopefully with you-know-who in attendance?"

"Certainly, my dear."

"Will you join us, Mr. …Aldridge?" Emma said, flashing him her most charming smile. "I suppose you do know how to play snooker?"

"I have played it once or twice…I might be able to give you a good game."

"I'm sure you'll try," said Emma.

He smiled at her as charmingly as he held open the door for her. "After you, Mrs. Peel."

There were three snooker tables in the game room - snooker was one of the most popular games played by businesspeople at these conferences. Their tournament proceeded quickly, therefore, and the last game of the night was indeed Steed/Aldridge versus Emma Peel. The rest of the men gathered round to watch the fun.

It was a tense game, and came down to the last three balls. Steed didn't have a good shot, and so knocked the cueball down to the other end, which 'snookered' Emma. She attempted to return the favor, and succeeded. Steed pulled off another snooker, and this time Emma couldn't respond. Steed had too good a shot and was able to pot the remaining three balls with great precision.

Steed extended his hand and Emma shook it with good grace, as their audience applauded.

Sir Harry looked at his watch. "Drinks all around before we turn in?"

Everyone made as if to leave, except for Emma who held back. "I think I'll be calling it a night."

The rest of the men bade her goodnight and exited the room. Last of all was Steed, who held the door open for Sir Harry and then closed it, with him on the same side of it. He looked appraisingly at Emma Peel, who stared back at him with eyes like lasers.

**V. THE CONVERSATION**

"Well, Mr. Steed, we meet again," Emma said as her opening gambit.

"Yes…and I'm very surprised. I'd been told your Miss Caldicott was going to be here."

"You'd been told…? By whom? Just what are you doing here, Mr. Steed? What's your game?"

The man put his hands together under his chin, obviously trying to martial his thoughts.

"Mrs. Peel, I was not entirely honest with you when last we met."

"Oh, really? You mean you hadn't stolen a million francs? Only a few paltry thousand?"

"No, Mrs. Peel, I hadn't stolen anything at all. Well…yes…I did…I stole payment money, which put a couple of very nasty blokes in a bit of a pickle with their employees. I actually performed a good deed."

"Oh, I see. Well, that makes it alright then."

"Indeed it does, Mrs. Peel. As I said, I wasn't entirely honest with you. I'm not a thief, I'm actually a special agent for HMG. Security branch."

Emma folded her arms across her chest and regarded him with amusement. "Oh, yes?"

"You see?" said the man, throwing up his hands. "You can't credit it. If I'd told you this in France, would you have believed me? Of course not. I told you the story that was most easy for you to believe."

"True. It's easier to believe you're a thief than a special agent."

A hurt expression crossed his face. "You wound me, Mrs. Peel. But think about it. If I were a common thief going around stealing cash from people, _why _would I be here, posing as an official in a company such as TechnoFish?"

"That's what I've been trying to figure out for the last several hours, Mr. Steed. Your name _is_ Mr. Steed, isn't it?"

"Well, you may call me Steed, if you like."

"Oh, thank you."

"And moreover, I can give you chapter and verse on every single man here. And I could do it on your Miss Caldicott as well, were she but here. Would I be able to do that if I weren't a special agent?"

"But why?"

"Immelman. The German rocket scientist. Everyone talks about America's Wernher Von Braun, and all the chaps that got taken over to Russia…no one mentions Immelman but he _is_ the pre-eminent man. And he was scheduled to be here."

"_With _his minders."

"You can never have too many minders, Mrs. Peel."

"Ye-es…but he _isn't _here. Hard luck on you…you don't know where he is, do you."

The man glanced at the phone on the table. "I'm expecting a phone call at any minute."

"So," Emma sighed and picked up the snooker cue again. Each of the tables had been set for another game of snooker. Emma took aim and made a break. A red ball fell into a pocket.

"You don't look as if you believe me, Mrs. Peel. Look."

Steed/Aldridge pulled out a thick wallet, looked through it, and pulled out a card, which he presented to her. Emma took it with one hand, and grabbed his entire wallet with the other. Steed/Aldridge's hand hovered in the air for a second as if he thought of snatching it back, but then he merely turned away and picked up his own cue. Despite the fact that it was Emma's turn, he took a shot, potting a ball.

Emma glanced through his walled. It was _stuffed _with business cards. Wayne Pennyfeather-fitch. Monsieur Gourmet. (No! He was that pretentious restaurant columnist for the _Times_?)

Emma handed the wallet back to Steed/Aldridge, who thanked her and returned it to his breast pocket. "Satisfied?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well, fine. Perhaps if you…." Steed/Aldridge lifted up the telephone receiver. He held it to his ear, very quietly. Then he glanced at her. He reached out and jiggled the handset. Then he replaced the receiver.

"The phone is dead," he said, quietly. "Duh _duh _duh dum."

"Catchy tune, Steed," Emma said. "But why, do you think? Lines down with the weight of the snow?"

"That's probably it," Steed said absently. "Since Immelman isn't here, I can't see why anyone would cut the lines deliberately."

Emma walked around the table, assessing shots and thinking. Steed certainly sounded plausible. And his wallet was certainly full of enough business cards to give him a host of identities. Why would a thief need that many identities?

But a thief who could steal a million francs…that was in the rarified air of thievery…to steal that kind of money a man had to be a master conman…but he'd been very gallant that time in France, insisting that he take on those two villains alone so as not to expose her to danger…he was a man who sounded plausible…she wanted to believe him…she almost believed him…but she didn't quite believe him.

Emma sighted along her cue and potted a red.

**VI. MORNING MOURNING**

Emma arose early the next morning. Her first thought was to check the phone -- still dead.

After taking a quick shower and dressing in slacks and a pullover, she headed down to the dining room. To her surprise, she counted eleven men in the spacious room - one of whom was rather elderly and Germanic looking - white hair cut in the Prussian style and a monocle in one eye.

Immelman and his minders must have arrived sometime during the night!

Her eyes went from him to John Steed…who was looking quite angelic as he devoured steak and eggs. He was looking very handsome in a black turtleneck sweater. The chair next to him was free, and he pointed at it with his fork.

"Hey ho," Emma said to herself. Whether he was a secret agent or a criminal, he'd bear watching. May as well keep close to him until she was really sure what his game was.

"I see our wandering boys have arrived," she murmured. "Does this mean that we aren't cut off here? The roads are still open."

"Unfortunately not. The roads _are _closed. Take a look outside. The snow is right up to the windows, and apparently it's worse everywhere else. Our boys arrived last night -- while we were having that snooker tournament…and thus perhaps _before _the telephone lines went down."

"Well, that lets out the members of the conference. We were all in the game room."

"Not necessarily," Steed said. "We were each of us concentrating on our games, and there were always two men spare at any one time, wasn't there. Anyone could have sneaked out for a second or so, saw that Immelman had arrived, and cut the wires."

"But why would they want to? It doesn't _matter _if we can't call out.. No one can _go_ anywhere. And that must have been known last night."

Steed shrugged. "No one can call _out_. And no one can call _in_. They did it for one of those two reasons. The question is, which one?"

At this point Emma realized that she and Steed were very close together…their knees almost touching and their faces close together. Well, they hadn't wanted to be overheard but it might look rather particular to anyone watching. And as a single woman in an conference full of men it was best that she not give _anyone _the wrong impression.

Emma straightened and returned her attention to her breakfast. She used her knife to shove a bit of egg onto her fork and conveyed it to her mouth. Beside her, Steed had also returned to his breakfast. They spent the next several minutes munching food. Emma listened to the conversation all round her - desultory, all of it.

After a few more minutes, Sir Harry rose to his feet.

"Gentlemen…and lady, we are privileged to have with us Mr. Gottfried Immelman, the eminent rocket scientist. Even though we are so few in number, we are going ahead with the conference, and if you'd like to adjourn to Meeting Room A now, Mr. Immelman will share with us his thoughts on the prospect of mankind reaching the moon, Mars, and the stars."

Emma lost track of Steed as she headed to Meeting Room A with the rest of the men. Jason Grimes and Douglas Treeves flanked her. Emma considered vaguely that she'd like to sit at the very back of the room to observe everyone while the talk was going on - and to keep her eye on Steed, but she ended up in the front row - which she would have chosen if she had not been encumbered by thoughts of intrigue. She did look back casually before she sat down and did not see Steed in the room at all.

Now, where had he got to, and why?

**VII. INTERLUDE - STEED**

John Steed made his excuses to his seatmate - "I need a bit of bicarb…that breakfast…" and made his way into the servants quarters of Bailey Hall. He opened the first door he came to and went in. Wisden - clad and looking very pretty in a maid's uniform.

"Your report, Wisden?" he said briskly. "I've got to get back to the conference."

"I checked Immelman's room, and the rooms of his two minders as soon as they'd been vacated. Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

Steed nodded. He knew Wisden's skills - he had asked for her specially on this mission, to play the part of one of the temporary help brought in whenever Bailey Hall was hosting a conference. If she said there was nothing of interest to be found in the rooms of those mentioned, then there was indeed nothing there.

"Anything I need to know about?" asked Steed.

"I don't think so. All the chauffeurs have been having their own brekker in our staff dining room. They say the roads are blocked and won't be opened for some time. No one seems upset about it. There's plenty of provisions in - not only for the guests but for us below stairs."

"I'm relieved to hear it. Well, I'll head back to the conference."

"I'll keep on the lookout, sir."

"Well done, Wisden. Carry on."

**VII. A PEACEFUL DAY**

It had been a fascinating day, thought Emma Peel as she undressed and stepped into the shower. (Emma liked taking showers - she averaged two a day.)

The first day of the conference had been scheduled to be packed solid with talks and demonstrations, but of course no one had arrived to hold those talks or demonstrations, and Immelman was so interesting that the morning had passed away without Emma noticing it - and she assumed that all the legitimate members of the audience felt the same way.

After lunch, in which Emma had used her feminine wiles to sit next to Immelman and talk to him, it somehow transpired that all eight of the conference attendees found themselves outside. Some devoted themselves to building a to-scale model of a rocket-ship launch rail, and others to a model of the rocket ship itself, out of the vast amount of snow that surrounded them.

Everyone had set to a will, John Steed more enthusiastic than any of them, Emma had noticed with interest.

After dinner, they'd separated into tables for bridge. Emma had been the big winner of the evening…which was always gratifying.

**VII. THE PLOT THICKENS**

Emma went to the dining room the next morning to find the room in a state of agitation.

John Steed joined her as she moved to the chafing tables to help herself to breakfast.

"Immelman has disappeared."

Her hand froze as it reached towards one of the dishes, and she turned and faced Steed squarely. "Disappeared? How? I thought you were supposed to be looking after him?"

"I wasn't," the man said with a tinge of anger in his voice. "That's what his minders were for. I was supposed to be looking out to make sure no one else got to him."

"Well.." Emma was about to say, "You failed, haven't you," but restrained herself. Either Immelman had legitimately disappeared and Steed was telling the truth, or Steed had done something with Immelman and was lying to her. Either way she'd better be careful.

Instead she said, "But how could he have disappeared? There's no way to leave the house."

"Sir Harry and his staff are searching the house from top to bottom even as we speak. Along with his two minders."

"He's got to be here somewhere."

"Ye-es."

Emma looked at the food, but her appetite had gone. She turned and walked out of the drawing room, followed by Steed.

"So you're just going to sit around and let everyone else do the searching?"

"I let people do what they do best. They can search. I'm thinking."

"Yes…that's probably a full-time job for you."

"You can be very cruel, Mrs. Peel."

"Yes, well..I'm sorry. But this just doesn't make any sense. He can't have disappeared."

But he had done. The house was searched from top to bottom, everyone's room was searched, all the empty rooms were searched. There was no sign of Immelman.

Ema and Steed walked around outside. The crystalline versions of the rocket launching rail and the rocket ship looked rather forlorn now… as did the life-sized figure of a snowman dressed as an astronaut that someone had also made. They walked around the perimeter of the grounds…but there were no footprints leading off into the pristine snow that surrounded them.

"It's like he vanished into thin air," Steed said. "Perhaps someone in a spaceship came down and spirited him away."

Emma turned around slowly and looked at the astronaut. "I hope so," she said grimly.

Steed followed her gaze, then looked at her. "No."

"I hope so," Emma said again.

They walked up to the astronaut snowman. They exchanged glances again. Then Steed placed his hands on the snowman's chest and shoved. The packed snow resisted him, and then began to crumble. It fell backwards. And there, crumpled up within it, was the body of Immelman.

**VIII. THE DENOUEMENT**

Steed bent down and examined the body. "He's been stabbed."

"I liked him," Emma said quietly. "I liked him very much."

Steed stood up. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "But we'll find out who did this. Some old-fashioned detective work is called for."

"Yes, such as who saw him last."

"Right. Let's go have a chat with his minders."

Emma walked beside Steed as they headed for the house, and through the hallway to the dining room, where everyone was gathered together, assuaging their puzzlement by eating. A typical human reaction, thought Emma.

She noted that Steed had come to a stop just inside the door…as if he were intending to guard it against anyone trying to leave. For her own part, those windows were very big and very inviting. She paused at the sideboard to pour herself a cup of tea, and then went and stood with her back to them, surveying the room.

"Still no sign of Herr Immelman, eh?" said Steed cheerfully. "Quite a mystery, what? Well, I've read plenty of detective novels and I know exactly what questions should be asked. For example, who was the last person to see Immelman?"

Sir Harry rose to his feet. "Mr. Aldridge, I appreciate…"

Steed held up a hand. "Now, Sir Harry, I know exactly what you're going to say. We should leave this for the police. But the police won't be able to get here for some time. And time might be of the essence. I think we should all cooperate and find out what we can, now."

Steed's voice was commanding, and Sir Harry looked around helplessly, before shrugging. "Oh, very well. I think you" -- here he addressed Immelman's minders -- "can count on our full cooperation."

"So," repeated Steed. "Who saw Immelman last?"

"We were playing bridge until midnight, weren't we?" said Grimes. "Then Douglas and I went upstairs. Douglas had a nightcap in my room, then returned to his own. Immelman was still in the bridge room when we left. As were you, Mr. Aldridge."

Steed nodded. "So I was. However, I think I left shortly after you, Sir Harry."

Sir Harry shrugged. "I left about ten after midnight, I think. Immelman was still here."

Everyone gave the times - either approximate or precise, depending on their temperament - that they had left the bridge party and returned to their own rooms. Immelman had been left on his own, with his two minders.

Next, Steed said, "Well, did anyone here have a chat with Immelman? Did he mention wanting to go for a walk this morning?"

Denials from everyone.

"Well, I give up," said Steed, throwing up his hands. He poured himself some tea from the sideboard. "By the way, Mrs. Peel and I walked around the grounds earlier today, just to see if we could see any footprints leading away from the house, you know. And we couldn't find any. So he's still go tto be here, somewhere!"

So, thought Emma, Steed was going to keep it secret that they had found Immelman's body. Probably a good tactic. Never let the opposition know how much you knew.

"Speaking of the outside," Emma said, "we saw a lovely snowman out there - in the form of an astronaut. The helmet, the suit…very realistic, from what I've seen. I was quite impressed. I didn't notice that being made while we were busy doing the rocket ship and the launch rail. Who did it?"

The two Immelman minders exchanged glances. "We did," one of them said, proudly. "After you all were done we thought there was something missing, so we knocked it together."

Emma's eyes caught Steed's. She picked up her empty teacup in one hand, and rested her other hand on the saucer that she had placed on the window ledge.

"It was very lifelike," Steed said. "You must have had a model for it."

"Oh, you don't need a model to do a snowman." said one of the minders. "Everyone knows what they look like."

"Yes…but how did you get Immelman's body inside it?"

There was total silence. Then, the hands of the two minders dove into their jackets and came out holding guns. However, before they could do anything, the air was full of flying crockery, as Emma hurled her tea things at them. Steed had launched himself towards them at the same time, and with a few quick punches they were on the floor.

**IX. RECRUITED**

"I'd meant to get in touch with you, you know." said John Steed.

Emma and he were walking once more around the vast space complex made of snow…the dream that Immelman had possessed and which would now never happen, at least not for England.

"I'm flattered to hear it."

"I was quite impressed with your poise, over in Dijon. And then of course here. Your intelligence, your knowledge, your physical skills. Mrs. Peel, your country needs you. I need you."

Emma looked at him. She smiled and nodded. "It's nice to be needed," she said.

THE END


End file.
